


surviving ain't living

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tenderness, past Jack/Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: When a friendly visit with Jack results in Kent pulling away from both of them, Ransom and Holster are forced to come to terms with several unexpected truths about Kent's past relationship with Jack.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi/Kent "Parse" Parson, Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Kent "Parse" Parson, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Justin "Ransom" Oluransi/Kent "Parse" Parson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	surviving ain't living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaiaSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaSakura/gifts).



> For the lovely FaiaSakura! It was such a pleasure to write for you, and I was thrilled to have the chance to write this rarepair. Wishing you a Valentine's Day as wonderful as you are!
> 
> A big thank to Kirani for helping beta this fic! I'm so grateful that our resident Ransom/Holster expert was there for me to consult! ❤️

Besides hockey itself and devising humane solutions to solve Vegas’s stray cat problem, Kent’s next greatest talent was hiding whatever emotions had crossed his mind like they were the damn Ark of the Covenant. His default expression whenever he was conflicted was a bland, media-friendly smile that covered any trace of the truth. He was so skilled at it that Holster might never have even noticed if Jeff Troy hadn’t pulled him and Rans aside shortly to tell them after the two of them and Kent became exclusive.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for you, but I want you to know that Kent lies a lot about how he’s feeling.” He’d held up a hand to stifle their protests. “Look, he doesn’t do it deliberately most of the time, and when he does, it’s because he thinks he’s doing what’s best for everybody. It’s a learned behavior, and if you’re going to be looking out for him, you need to look out for that.” 

_Learned behavior._ Holster didn’t have concrete proof of his suspicions, but the phrase instantly had the thought of Kent and Jack’s relationship—or whatever it had been—careening through his mind. And it remained there, flashing like a neon warning sign, during their next visit with Jack a short time later. They were on the East Coast for a few weeks, to spend some time visiting their friends from Samwell and then heading up to see Holster’s family in Buffalo. Stopping to catch up with Bitty and Jack in Providence for a few days seemed like a natural decision, and one that Kent assured Ransom and Jack he was okay with.

“I have to see Jack at games already,” he’d said with a wry smile. “He may not be my favorite person, but I’m not going to fall apart at the sight of him in the off-season.”

Holster and Ransom had taken him at his word, and for the most part, the visit actually went pretty well. Admittedly, Bitty had tried to insist that they stay with him and Jack in Jack’s colossal McMansion, but Ransom and Holster decided long beforehand that they wouldn’t do that to Kent, and so they chose a hotel. This preference didn’t escape Bitty’s notice.

“Was it your Yankee self?” he asked Kent, his honeyed tone almost amiable enough to disguise the traces of poison seeping in. “Did you twist that silver tongue of yours and convince your boys not to accept my Southern hospitality?” His voice might have been friendly, but his gaze was all steel as he narrowed his eyes at Kent, and his smile was all teeth.

Kent sent an equally sharp smile right back Bitty’s way. “My ‘boys’ are perfectly capable of making their own decisions. But I wouldn’t take it personally, Bitty. I think they just wanted to enjoy the breakfast we get in the hotel restaurant each morning. Some of those chefs are really talented.”

Bitty’s jaw dropped at the insinuation, the _Well, I never!_ practically visible in a thought balloon above his head. Holster exchanged glances with Ransom, his own amusement and disbelief reflected plainly on his other boyfriend’s face. Where chirps were concerned, it was abundantly clear that Kent really didn’t see a point in taking prisoners.

But the rest of their time together went pretty well, he thought. Even Jack seemed like he was really making an effort to be a good host. Or maybe being an A with the Falcs had led him to finally outgrow the regularly-occurring bouts of self-absorbed dickishness that had shaped their friendship in college. Whatever the case, Holster was gratified to notice that it seemed like Jack had transitioned from being his friend who he loved in spite of him being a dick to just being his friend who he loved. And Holster was actually really impressed by it—he’d never thought Jack was the type to focus on self-improvement outside of hockey, but here he’d proved him wrong. Hopefully it would make things easier for Kent, too, as he cautiously reentered Jack’s life again as, like, a casual acquaintance and not just a hockey rival. 

And it wasn’t like—well, look. Holster wasn’t going to lie and say that it was easy that one of their good friends and teammates from college was the ex of their current boyfriend from a relationship that had ended suddenly and tragically thanks to said friend’s then-drug problem. And it was even messier since, from the little commentary Kent had offered to them and what Holster and Ransom had witnessed for themselves during Kent’s visits to the Haus on more than one occasion, Jack really hadn’t been remotely interested in repairing the relationship or trying for friendship. But Kent had told Ransom and Holster even before they got serious that he didn’t expect them to give up Jack.

“We’re all adults, and what happened between the two of us went down years ago,” he’d said with a shrug. “I don’t want you to ditch him just to get with me. And Jesus, maybe it’s time both me and Zimms get over ourselves.”

The remark had Holster swapping looks with Ransom, and he could tell they were both thinking the same thing: it seemed like that between Kent and Jack, one of them had already started the process, while the other hadn’t.

But now, it really did seem like both of them were able to stay civil with each other for more than five minutes, and Holster hoped that the realization would reassure Kent. Their boyfriend wasn’t ever the easiest to read, but both he and Rans had noticed the tension that had settled in Kent’s shoulders directly before their trip East, how he’d spent the plane ride clenching his jaw and staring into space, not even bothering to slip on his headphones. 

By the time they departed from Providence for Boston for a brief sojourn to see Lardo and Shitty, he expected for Kent’s uneasiness to vanish, but it only seemed to increase, Kent growing quieter and more distant than ever. Holster wasn’t quite sure what to think about it; but Ransom had an idea.

“Maybe it’s just awkward for him,” he suggested. “I mean, we’re all old friends and he’s new. He has no real connection to Shitty or Lards. If he thinks that the next couple of days are just going to be us reminiscing about the good old days and he’s gonna be left out, of course he’s not going to be all that thrilled.”

“Yeah,” Holster said, nodding as he followed Ransom’s logic; it all checked out. Trust Rans to be able to get to the truth. “Hey, let’s make a point to not be douches and totally forget to include him.”

Rans smiled at him, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Holster’s collarbone, his lips brushing just below the V of his T-shirt in the way that always got Holster’s blood pumping. “You think I’d do anything else?” 

So, for like, a period of maybe twenty-four hours, Holster believe everything was going to be okay.

But then Kent stopped coming to bed with them. 

The night after they arrived in Boston, the three of them were chilling on the couch in the main room of their hotel suite for a few minutes before bed, Holster and Ransom wanting nothing more than to wrap their arms around Kent and kiss every inch of exposed skin. The time spent with Jack couldn’t have been easy, no matter how cool Kent had played it, and they wanted him to know they appreciated his efforts for them.

But when they eventually stood up from the couch, stretching their arms above their heads before they ambled into the bedroom, Kent made no movement to follow them.

“Late night for you?” Rans asked with a smile, leaning back down and nuzzling against Kent.

Kent offered them a tired smile as he sipped on the gin he’d snagged from the minibar. “You go on. I’m gonna stay up late and come up with a list of ways I can convince Lardo to take us on a duck tour.”

They’d all laughed at that, and Rans and Holts had gone to sleep, figuring Kent just needed some time to himself after spending days at a time with Jack. But at the point when they’d moved onto from Boston to Buffalo, Kent was alternating between not going to bed at all or tossing and turning between the two of them until he crawled back out, answering their protests by insisting he didn’t want to keep them awake. 

Even Holster’s parents had noticed and commented on it, much to Holster’s dismay. 

“He’s a lovely boy, dear, and I know you’re young and in love, but you and Justin should try to let him get a little bit of rest,” his mom told him during breakfast one morning, before Ransom and Kent joined them. “Your late nights together are becoming a bit . . . noticeable.”

Holster had been in the process of gulping down his orange juice when she’d begun talking, and he cringed so hard that he almost choked. 

“A little TLC goes a long way,” his father added, and okay, Holster actually did choke at that, recoiling in horror at his parents’ misguided commentary on his sex life.

But they were right, much as he absolutely didn’t want to think about anything they’d said. As the days went on, Kent looked increasingly haggard, the lack of sleep casting shadows across his face and both his whole-hearted laugh and warm smile coming slower and more strained. 

Holster wasn’t sure what to think about it.

“Kenny’s acting weird, right?” he asked Ransom lowly one evening as they meandered a ways behind his parents and Kent on their way into that new barbecue place his parents were raring to try. “Or is it just me?”

“Not just you.” Ransom chewed the inside of his cheek the way he always did when he was extremely nervous. Noticing it, Holster looped a steadying arm around his shoulders, pulling him close in spite of the sticky humidity, hoping he could calm him down. 

Rans shot him a grateful smile as he pressed into the touch, but it quickly faded when he spoke again. “He’s been really weird since we went to see Jack and Bitty.”

“But that’s over, whatever was going on with him and Jack,” Holster protested. “What would he have to be upset about?”

Ransom slipped off his baseball cap so he could twist it anxiously in his hands. “Y’know, I was thinking—it’s just that—” he broke off, hesitating. 

“C’mon, bro, spit it out,” Holster hissed, knowing that they couldn’t delay on the sidewalk forever. “You’ve always had killer instincts. What do you think is up with him?”

“I think he’s still in love with Jack,” Ransom blurted out. “And that seeing Jack reminded him of it.”

Stunned, Holster could only halt dead in his tracks and stare at him, waiting for the rest of the explanation, but Ransom only shrugged helplessly.

“I mean, I’m hoping I’m wrong?” he offered, his voice going a little bit desperate.

Any further conversation was cut off by Holster’s mom calling to them that they were going to miss their reservations if they didn’t hurry up, but he made a point of checking in with Ransom again just before they settled in for the night, under the excuse of going stargazing. Kent had already gone to bed, even though all three of them knew he was barely going to get any sleep. 

“You really think he still has a thing for Jack?” Holster asked in a hushed voice, even though his voice couldn’t possibly carry all the way from the meadow behind his house.

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Ransom replied unhappily, his forehead creasing as he nervously pulled up tufts of grass. “And it’s like you said. If it was just Jack on his own that was making him upset, he would have let go of that by now since we’re no longer around Jack. This is something else.”

Holster wanted to object, he really did. One of his boyfriends, being stuck on Jack, out of all of their friends to be stuck on? It was like some kind of cringe comedy. But even as he racked his brain, he couldn’t find anything else to explain Kent’s restlessness and loss of energy. Maybe it really was a case of a broken heart, and seeing Jack had been too great of a reminder of what he’d lost.

At the thought, Holster made a face. He didn’t think he was the greatest boyfriend to ever breathe air by any means, but he liked to think that he didn’t fall short in the romance department when compared to the likes of _Jack,_ Jesus.

Then again, how many of those fanfics were there across the internet where Kent was still pining away for Jack after years apart? Fanfic wasn’t real life, sure, but maybe where there was smoke, there was fire. Suddenly, Holster was filled with immense regret for ever reading them.

But for the moment, there wasn’t smoke or fire in front of him, just a boyfriend who was hurting. So without wasting another moment, he folded Ransom into a tight hug, holding him close and breathing in the scent of his woodsy cologne, suddenly and inexplicably longing for the simpler times in college, when the two of them used to constantly reek of Icy Hot and hockey gear no matter how many times they showered.

“That’s not it,” Holster told him firmly. “For fuck’s sake, the dude’s _dad_ had to tell him that Bitty was into him. No way could Jack Zimmermann ever hope to measure up to the two of us.”

While he wasn’t sure if he himself believed it, he could feel Ransom smile into the crook of his neck, and somehow, that was comfort enough.

* * *

Throughout the next few days, Holster and Rans tried to talk with Kent about whatever was the matter with him, but Kent always had some kind of reason or excuse for not talking.

“Not now,” he’d said, exhaustion lining his forehead after another night where he didn’t seem to sleep at all. “Just enjoy the time you have with your parents, okay? I don’t want to ruin that for you.”

Holster froze at that, but quickly recovered. “You’re not ruining anything,” he said fiercely. “We’re just worried—”

“Guys, please. Let’s not.” Kent looked wearily from Holster and then Ransom, his tone dangerously close to pleading.

And Holster couldn’t find much else to do but exchange helpless looks with Ransom and then try to talk to Kent again and again, only for Kent to beg off every time. 

By the time the three of them departed from Buffalo, Kent was just barely clinging on. The dark circles beneath his eyes were reaching the point that he’d taken a few solid punches to the face, and his features pale and drawn, like he’d just had a hell of a time battling it out with the flu. Somewhere a couple of days back, he’d stopped making an effort to actually eat during meals and instead just spent the time pushing food around his plate while charming Holster’s parents so that they didn’t notice. They’d been flattered by the attention of an NHL superstar, delighted that the famous Kent Parson was interested in their hobbies and church and committees and neighborhood squabbles, but Holster had no doubt that the Aces’ nutritionist would be far less thrilled.

He was also kind of annoyed that Kent thought he and Rans would buy it, too, and he clung to the itch the irritation inspired within him so he could ignore the unpleasant churning in his stomach at the idea of Kent still being hooked on Jack, especially when Kent had him and Ransom both.

But he knew he needed to swallow his ego, especially since Kent was in trouble. He couldn’t stand to see Kent hurting like he was, and he knew they needed to step in.

During the flight back to Vegas, Holster and Ransom formulated a plan, murmuring quietly above Kent’s head as he finally managed to doze off, lulled to sleep by the sound of early 2000’s pop songs. Whether he was in love with Jack or not, Kent was their boyfriend, and they were going to take care of him.

Since they’d been gone for several weeks, there wasn’t going to be any fresh food in the fridge, and after a six hour flight, neither of them felt like going to the grocery store. Luckily, a few clicks on Holster’s phone solved the fruit and vegetables problem, and their doorstep grocery delivery was waiting for them on the porch when the cab brought them home. Even better, Scraps, who’d been cat-sitting for Kit and Purrs in their absence, left a pile of chicken fajitas in the fridge, with a little note reminding his captain to keep bulking up in the off-season. Holster and Rans both shot him off thank-you texts immediately.

Once they’d finished hauling their luggage through the door, Kent made a beeline for the shower. 

“I’m going to go rinse off,” he told them, but Ransom stopped him in his tracks. 

“You’re going to sit here with us,” Ransom told him gently but firmly, in that quietly commanding voice that always had Holster shivering when he saw him use it on Kent. “We’re just going to take a few moments together, okay?”

Kent looked bewildered as Ransom steered him over to couch, and something sharp twisted in the pit of Holster’s stomach as he left them to work in the kitchen for a few minutes. Did Kent really think that they wouldn’t notice how much he was hurting? Or that they’d see but just wouldn’t care? 

Five minutes that was needed to brew that licorice tea that Ransom swore helped with stress, and Holster didn’t need much longer than that to chop up a bunch of strawberries and peaches and toss them into a bowl, but it still felt like much too long to be apart from Kent when he clearly needed both of them. It was a relief to return to the couch and find Kent comfortably bundled up Ransy’s arms, and Holster chuckled when he saw that Kit and Purrs had joined the effort as well, with both the Maine Coon and the Ragdoll stretched across Kent’s lap in a pile of fluff. Meanwhile, Kent himself seemed somewhat drowsy, leaning into Ransom’s chest with his eyes closed.

Taking pains to be gentle, Holster lightly nudged at his shoulder. “You up for eating anything, Kenny? You barely had breakfast, and you didn’t eat on the plane.”

Kent shook his head, then winced and pressed a hand to his temple as if dizzy. “That’s okay. I’m just tired and want to sleep.”

The gesture caught Holster’s attention right away, and a glance at Ransom told him he had spotted it as well. 

Reaching down, he squeezed Kent’s knee. “We both think you should eat something,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. Can you try to eat something for us?”

For a moment, Kent hesitated, glancing back and forth between him and Ransom. He opened his mouth and then shut it again before he nodded. “Okay,” he said, sounding a little uncertain. “If it’s . . . if that’s you guys want.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Holster leaned down and brushed his lips against Kent’s temple. “Thank you, baby.”

“Of course we want this,” Ransom assured him, murmuring softly as he stroked Kent’s hair. “Of course we want to take care of you.”

Slowly, carefully, the two of them coaxed Kent into eating most of the fruit. Holster made sure to pass a few peach slices to Ransom, too, wanting to be certain his other boyfriend was getting what he needed as well, and he took one or two for himself, but most of his focus was on making sure Kent was finally eating again. Some of the tension eased out of Holster to see that Kent had regained some kind of appetite, and when he caught Ransom’s gaze, their eyes meeting over Kent’s cowlick, he could easily read the same relief reflected in his dark gaze as well. 

As far as personalities went, Holster didn’t consider himself to be a guy who needed his personal time. It was fun to have nights out at the club, especially when he and Rans could sandwich Kent in between them and grind away harder than Tony Hawk. And it was thoroughly satisfying to go out to a bar and see the both Ransom and Kent turn heads simply by walking in the door and revel in the knowledge that they were both _his._

But this moment, this quiet relief of being able to help Kent get back to himself, just felt _right,_ like nothing in the world could be better _._ They were safely back in their home, Kent nestled in between them and showing enough signs of life again that Holster could reasonably hope that whatever had been bothering him had been just a fluke. And his optimism increased when Kent finished the bowl of fruit and Holster set it aside, but Kent made no room to move or brush them off. Instead, he remained where he was, tucked securely in between the two of them, as if he never wanted to leave.

 _Like he wants to be with us and not Jack._ The thought burned brighter and brighter in Holster’s mind the longer they stayed there, content in their closeness, and he tried his hardest to will it into reality.

The silence spooled out between the three of them, and, with Kent now relaxed enough to just close his eyes and be held for a few minutes, that was what they did for a little while. Ransom and Holster were more than happy to keep him nestled between them. Holster brushed a careful hand along Kent’s neck and then chest, over and over, and Ransom gently rubbed circles into his back, watching him with warm eyes so soft they were nearly liquid. A long breath escaped Kent as he leaned into the touch, sinking into both of them at once.

“Mmm,” Kent sighed, his head listing to fall against Holster’s shoulder. “This right here? This makes that entire trip worth it.”

Holster paused at that remark, frowning slightly, his eyes meeting Ransom’s, and he knew in that instant that the sharp jolt of guilt was jabbing at both of their stomachs.

Ransom, braver than him, broached the topic first. 

“It was really difficult for you, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice quiet and sympathetic, far more controlled than Holster could have managed in that moment. “A long trip like this in the off-season?”

Holster winced. They’d both wondered if Kent would be okay spending weeks on the road when he already had to do it regularly during the season. He’d assured them he was fine with it, and they’d believed it—but maybe they never should have asked it of him.

But Kent was already shaking his head, offering them a smile that didn’t suit his face—too sad and too bitter. Something inside of Holster ached sharply at the sight of it.

“It was just so weird to see Jack again,” Kent confessed. He didn’t look at either of them, instead fixing his gaze on the two cats in his lap as he petted them, as if the motion required his complete attention. “And that’s the most time we’ve spent together since I was billeting with him in Juniors. I mean, I thought I could do it—and I did,” he added fiercely, pride surging in his voice as his head tilted up and he glanced back and forth between them, his eyes glinting at the memory of hard-won victory. 

It was kind of weird to see that look on Kent’s face. Holster usually associated that kind of gleam in someone’s eyes with war veterans recounting bloody battles won at the eleventh hour, not a guy finally coming to peace with his kind of douchey ex-boyfriend. It made him feel doubtful of himself, of Kent and Jack, in a way that wasn’t familiar or comfortable.

It also made him doubt that Kent was still in love with Jack like they’d thought, but he wasn’t sure he enjoyed this new uncertainty any better.

“So it was hard for you to see Jack, then?” Holster ventured cautiously.

Kent’s eyes were back on the cats again, and Holster desperately wanted to turn Kent’s face toward his own to see the full expression on his face as he answered the question. His hands itched with the urge, and he had to clench his fists to fight it down. He didn’t want to scare Kent off when he was already vulnerable. 

In the end, it would have been a useless gesture, anyway, because Kent’s face only tensed, slackened, and then wiped itself clear of any emotion.

“Whenever it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, I always go back to picturing him the way he was just after the overdose,” Kent told them, his voice . . . _still_ in a way Holster could never remember hearing it. “I see him there on the floor, his eyes twitching and his whole body just _shaking_. God, it was so fucking terrifying to see him like that. To know something was wrong but not know what.” He rubbed at his face with his hands before shooting them both a brittle, humorless smile. “Part of the reason I kept coming to your frat house during college was so I could get that image out of my head. So I could see Jack again and tell myself that it wasn’t him anymore, that he was better. Didn’t matter that he’d kick me out in less than five minutes. I just needed to see him. I couldn’t handle that idea a second longer.”

There was something wretched and weak in Kent’s voice when he talked about it, and Holster’s arms around him tightened at its sound. He didn’t even need to look at Ransom to know he was doing the same.

But Kent’s description of Jack bothered Holster—something didn’t seem right. His brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate on what, but before he could pick up on it, there was a sharp intake of breath from Ransom that had Holster whipping his head toward him.

Ransom’s eyes were wide as he stared at Kent. “You’re not talking about seeing him in the hospital. You’re talking about pre-treatment symptoms.” 

Trust Ransom’s medical knowledge to help him clue in faster. An instinctive burst of pride for his boyfriend swelled within Holster, but it deflated once he fully registered what Ransom had said.

 _Pre-treatment._ But that would mean—if Kent had seen Jack’s overdose before he was treated—

“You found him, didn’t you?” Holster realized, cold shock diffusing through his veins as he gazed at Kent. He vaguely noticed Ransom’s quiet curse, but he was too preoccupied with Kent to respond. “You were the one to find Jack after his overdose.”

See, Holster hadn’t met Jack until more than two years after the overdose. Neither had Rans. He’d read far more about it fanfic than Jack had ever willingly discussed it with any of them. So sometimes it was hard to remember that it was something that actually happened and actually hurt people in real life, that it wasn’t something vaguely based in real life but mostly invented by the internet. And he’d never even considered that Jack would have needed to be discovered by _someone._

But here was Kent, their actual boyfriend, nodding grimly in answer to Holster’s question. _Kent_ had been that someone.

“That was me,” he said, his voice going hoarse in his throat. He tried to smile again, but he couldn’t twist up the corners of his mouth. “I called for an ambulance and rode with him there. I waited for Bob and Alicia until they could get back from the party they were at. And then I went first in the draft that same night. Vegas whisked me off two days later for training camp, and Jack was still in a coma by then. I didn’t see him healthy again until half a year later when the team flew to Montreal and I slipped away for a few hours. Guess that’s why that picture of him sticks with me.” He looked down at the cats again as if ashamed. “Anyway, it was just rougher than I thought it would be to be around him now, not just seeing him once and then leaving. That’s why I’ve been so burnt out lately.” 

Staggered by the admission, Holster found himself paralyzed as a half-formed thoughts chased themselves through his brain. It was a battle to latch onto any one of them in particular, but even then he could recognize the weighty, unpleasant emotion settling thickly in his stomach: guilt. Guilt for pressuring Kent into the trip to see Jack and Bitty, and guilt for never even considering that Kent might have lingering issues with Jack that still haunted him. God, here they’d been thinking Kent was still in love with Jack, when in reality, Kent could barely cope with the memories.

He wanted to apologize, tell Kent how goddamn sorry he was, but it could never be enough. How could he say sorry when he couldn’t even imagine what Kent had lived through? He’d just finished his senior year of high school at the time of Kent’s draft, just before he went off to play for Waterloo, and he could recall the endless headlines about Jack’s OD in sharp detail. Even the national US press had gotten ahold of the story, ravenous for the tale of an old-school hockey hero’s son destroying himself with pills. And the guys on the team had gossiped about it endlessly, speculating if Jack would ever return to the game. It had been easy, then, when he didn’t know Jack or Kent and didn’t think he ever would, to see them as two abstract figures instead of actual people. 

But now, a bleak picture painted itself in Holster’s mind: Kent entirely on his own in Vegas, just days after the draft. Hounded by the press day and night, trying to adapt to a totally new place, all while struggling with the memory of finding his boyfriend barely alive and still not knowing if he would be okay. It was the stuff of nightmares and sounded depressingly lonely. Holster tried to imagine starting off a pro hockey career before he was eighteen and in the wake of one of his friends’ overdose—tried to imagine how he’d do that even at twenty years old. His mind automatically filled in Ransom’s face as the friend in question, and his stomach lurched, the bottom dropping out. Just the thought made him feel helpless and hollow.

But as Holster sat rigidly beside Kent, dimly grateful that Rans was already taking the initiative and cuddling Kent close again, it occurred to him that he didn’t want Kent to know he or Rans were sorry for what had happened to him. He wanted Kent to know that time in his life was over, that he was safe from that.

So he seized both Kent and Ransom in a bear hug, jamming himself into both of them as close as he could get.

“That’s not Jack,” he told him firmly, the words rushing of his mouth like water over a dam. “You don’t have to worry, that’s not Jack anymore.” He wanted nothing more in that moment than to reassure Kent that the isolation from those days were over, that he had the two of them now, that they were there whenever he wanted or needed. He needed Kent to _know._

“Yeah,” Kent said, and he sounded tired but relieved. “Yeah, I get that. And I’m glad that he’s different now. I’m even glad for itty-Bitty Bittle, that Jack has someone to help him. It’s just, uh—” he returned his gaze to the cats, both of which were preening under his attention. “It’s hard,” he finished, his voice cracking slightly. “I’d wanted to see him before now, but then it was way harder than I thought it would be to see him day after day.”

Holster squeezed the both of them more tightly at that, wishing he could just hug Kent until all of his pain and misery evaporated. He just wished he could do something more than just talk it out, offer something more substantial, but he had to be heard, had to have Kent understand them now.

“We’re sorry,” he said, even with his doubt about it doing any good. “We’re fucking sorry we put you through that now and that you had to deal with it then, too. I—fuck, _Jesus.”_ He didn’t know what else to say when a boyfriend dropped that kind of bombshell about one of his friends. 

Luckily, Rans was a lot more eloquent. “We never would have asked you to go with us,” he told Kent, his voice gentle but resolute. “If we’d known, Kenny, we _never_ would have asked you.”

A corner of Kent’s mouth tried to quirk up in a smile; it didn’t help him look any less miserable. “I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, Kenny,” Holster croaked out, holding them both tight as he could, so much that his muscles were beginning to twinge. Still, since that didn’t seem like enough, he let them go so he could play with Kent’s hair, leaning in to whisper to him soothingly.

“It’s okay that it’s hard for you to deal with Jack,” he told him softly, giving him a soft kiss on top of his head. “It’s okay that it still hurts.”

At that, Kent didn’t respond, just burrowed in closer to him, and Holster raised his head to look at Ransom. But as if drawn by a magnet, Ransom was already seeking out Holster’s own gaze. Only half a second was required for them to realize they were both devising the same plan.

With steady but gentle movements, Ransom lifted up the cats, carefully depositing them onto the coffee table, and then tugged Kent up from the couch. “Come on,” he urged him. “How about we take that shower now?” 

Kent shook his head. “Too tired,” he rasped. 

“That’s all right,” Holster promised him, wrapping an arm around him and steering him in the direction of the master bath. “We’ll help you, both of us. You’ll see.”

And Kent _did_ see, they made sure of it. They slipped off his clothes, kissing him after they removed each piece, and then led him into the shower. As they switched on the spray, they kept him snugly nestled between them despite the luxuriously spacious stall, Holster at his back and and Ransom at his front. Warm water from the rainforest nozzle poured over the three of them, washing away the day’s stresses and weariness. The hot spray was comforting, and Holster could feel rivulets drip from his chest onto Kent’s arms and back as he dipped down to kiss at the hollows where Kent’s shoulders met his neck. He could sense the heat from Kent’s body mingling and melding with his own, felt him shiver and buckle at the soft touches. When a very gentle nip on Kent’s neck had him gasping and arching his back, Holster glanced up and exchanged a smile with Ransom, thrilled at Kent’s responsiveness.

With tender, soothing movements, the two of them slowly washed Kent, Ransom spreading soap along his chest and Holster, since he was taller, spreading fruity-scented shampoo and then conditioner in Kent’s hair and then carefully rinsing it off. Every attempt by Kent to do it for himself was met with his hands being gently batted away.

“Let us do this for you,” Holster urged him, whispering into the shell of Kent’s ear, knowing his breath would tickle the wet skin. “Relax, we’ll take care of you.”

“We will, Kent,” Ransom promised, his brown eyes brimming with sincerity as he tilted Kent’s chin up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. “Just let us show you how much we care.” 

Nodding shyly, Kent looped his arms around Ransom’s neck, burying his face into his collarbone, which Ransom responded to with another kiss, this time to his neck. Then, trading a smile with Holster, the two of them set to filling their palms with bath oil and massaging it into Kent’s bare back, growing more and more satisfied with every groan they wrought out of Kent as they rubbed the knots loose from his muscles. By the time they switched off the water and wrapped Kent in towels, he was beyond boneless, sagging against them and allowing himself to be helped into the bedroom.

While it was barely eight o’clock in the evening and still light outside, the combination of jetlag and the whirlwind of emotions throughout the day had taken its toll, prompting Holster and Ransom to grab a fresh set of lounge pants and a t-shirt and help Kent into them. Then they traded places as both of them prepared for bed, Holster first and then Ransom, making sure one of them was always there to hold Kent close until they could both join him on the mattress. When they went to lay down, they instinctively fell into their favorite configuration: Kent on his back in the middle, Ransom and Holster on either side with their heads resting on his chest and grasping one of each other’s hands across his stomach. Holster liked this position; it let him feel like he was protecting Kent even as they slept. 

And speaking of protecting Kent . . .

“Hey, Kenny?” Holster lifted his head a couple of inches off Kent’s chest to look up at him.

“Hmm?” Kent must have been exhausted; his eyelids didn’t even flicker.

“You can talk about Jack if you need to,” Holster told him, putting as much conviction in his voice as he could cram in. “I know he’s our friend, so it might seem awkward. But you’re . . . you’re _ours,_ and if you want or need to talk about stuff that went down with him, you can.”

“We don’t want you to have to keep it all inside like you did this time,” Ransom added softly, reaching up and brushing a wisp of Kent’s hair away from his forehead. “We’d never ask you to do that. We’re here to talk, and if you want it to be about Jack, that’s what we’ll do.” 

For a long moment, Kent was silent, and at first, Holster wondered if he’d already fallen asleep. But then Kent spoke.

“’S really hard,” he eventually answered, his voice slurred by sleep. “With Jack. But you guys . . . you guys make it worth it.”

Ransom’s hand tightened on Holster’s at Kent’s words, but Holster just reached up with his other arm and wrapped around Kent’s shoulders, reminding him of his presence. Ransom followed suit just seconds later, his hand audibly skimming over the fabric of the sheets.

Relieved that they’d brought Kent back to them, relieved that he knew he had a place with them no matter who Jack had been to him, Holster drifted off to sleep, listening to the beat of Kent’s heart beneath his ear and feeling the pulse of Ransom’s fingertips in his own palm. 


End file.
